


Vulnerability

by Oliver__Niko



Series: Whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Scars, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Draco has been struggling to undress in front of Harry due to the fear and insecurities his scars bring. He has managed to bring himself to show Harry these scars one by one, explaining how they were inflicted, to hopefully start to grow comfortable in his own skin and know there is no judgement.





	Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> For day 15, 'Scars' <3
> 
> Every time I return to writing these two, I feel so nostalgic. I hope you enjoy!

Everyone has scars.

The tiny scar you cannot remember the cause of. The results of surgery. Deep, harsh wounds caused by an injury. Sometimes, they are not physical at all, but rather an emotional burden running deep inside.

Amongst the youth raised in war, an abundance of these scars with an array of causes is common. It can vary. There are those physically well, who are able to move on. There are others who still wake up screaming at night. Traumatised, because they still cannot remove the images of their own friends and family dying right in front of their eyes.

And some of these youth even had scars before the war began. Some have been suffering longer, for years beforehand, and the war only ignited the suppressed agony inside.

Harry is accustomed to scars. He lost count of how many people ogled at the lightning bolt on his forehead within the first week of being in the Wizarding World. Others have been inflicted since. Perhaps being this used to his physical scars is what allows him to feel no insecurity over them. His emotional wounds are those he struggles with. But he’s getting there, as are others, through therapy. He knows all will be well one day.

Yet his partner, Draco, is someone who is affected by his physical and emotional scars alike. Harry is yet to learn what is hiding underneath his clothes. All Harry is certain of is the scars he knows are running down Draco’s chest. Harry, after all, is the one who inflicted them.

It’s a fear that has dug deep inside Draco, for anyone to see them. Harry is pushed away every time he even _seems _as though he might undress Draco. He asks when he truly wants to. Of course he does. But every time, Draco has said no. Typically with a mumbled apology which feels so out of character for him.

He’s frustrated. It’s obvious. How he really does want to allow Harry to explore his body fully, away from simply touching him through fabric—he wants that intimacy, to embrace their love to the highest degree. He wants to grant Harry what both desire.

It’s not even always about anything sexual. The trust from laying yourself bare for another, knowing they will not abuse that vulnerability you show them; Draco yearns for this too. And perhaps that is why one day, the time finally comes where he is pushing himself. Where he allows himself to delve into the physical and emotional secrets he bears.

“We don’t have to do this,” says Harry, sitting cross-legged on their bed in front of Draco.

“And not ever let you see this fantastic body of mine?” There’s a slight shake to his voice, breaking his fake pride. Harry’s hand squeezes his thigh.

“Really. Only if you want to.”

“I—I do. I don’t think I can do anything more than show you for now, but that’s something.”

“It is, I promise.”

Draco barely has the ability to smirk. He exhales deeply, fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He only unfastens the first two. Enough to shrug it off his shoulders, shifting himself around. His hand shifts his shoulder-length hair over one shoulder.

“You might have seen this one before. But probably not the length of it.”

He is referring to a scar which runs from the back of his ear, down to his neck and top of his shoulder. Harry’s hand twitches, raises, wanting to trace his fingertips down it. He’s not sure why. Perhaps to simply provide comfort.

“How did you get that?”

“Father.” Draco continues quickly. “He didn’t make a habit of this stuff. But he lost his temper one day—probably stressed from what was resting on his shoulders, I guess—and hit me with his cane. Harder than he was supposed to. That’s the only time I’ve seen him cry.”

“Still, that’s …” Harry has already had a difficult time adjusting to Lucius. He is doing so for Draco, because the war allowed him to see how much the Malfoys truly do love each other, that their wish for redemption is real this time around. But there are moments which almost make this impossible.

“It’s fine. It’s faint, as you can see. It wasn’t as bad as you’d think.”

Harry’s eyes avert downwards. He frowns at the tip of the scars poking through the shirt folded over Draco’s back. He reaches forward, although immediately recoils when Draco tenses. “I’m sorry. There’s just—down your back here, there’s something else.”

“That’s a whole lot of fun and games I had with you-know-who’s pals.”

There’s a moment’s pause, Draco contemplating if he should continue. He slowly brings his shirt further down after he swallows. Harry’s eyes widen; several long marks, faded yet not entirely so.

“They’re almost like—”

“Lacerations? Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter, because that’s what they are.”

“The Death Eaters did that?”

Draco hums. He’s acting as though he’s fine with all of this, that he’s amused even, yet Harry can feel the slightest tremble with the hand carefully resting on Draco’s shoulder. “They despised me. Because of Lucius, because of getting such an important task instead of them—even though that was because he knew I’d fail anyway. A lot of reasons. Mother and father tried to protect me, but they weren’t in a good position, either.”

“I imagine that your times during the Manor, when Voldemort—” Draco flinches over the name, “—resided there.”

“That’s right. The Death Eaters liked to take frustrations and fear out on me, sometimes. It was usually the Cruciatus curse, though.”

It’s Harry’s turn to flinch. He knows personally how torturous that curse truly is. “I knew they treated you horribly—I saw it—but this is still … I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Of course the Chosen One deems it necessary to apologise for something he didn’t do.”

Draco turns around on the bed. He breathes out, fingers hesitant to unfasten more buttons. It’s clear that his cocky front is not quite enough to hide his struggles.

“You don’t have to carry on if you don’t want to,” says Harry. Draco shakes his head.

“I think if I show you like this, I’ll be able to be more open, and there’s no unanswered questions about anything.”

“Being honest about it makes you feel like you don’t have to hide yourself.”

A hint of a smile flickers on Draco’s face. “Something like that, I guess.”

The words reassure him. He continues to unfasten the shirt. He spreads out the material, sleeves folded over his lower arms, revealing his torso.

A wave of guilt hits Harry. The Sectumsempra scars are about as bad as he feared. A curse like that, riddled with dark magic—they cannot be faded like other scars can through magic. They remain prominent. Harsh bumps along pale skin, surely less severe than they had once been, yet still enough for a shiver to be sent down Harry’s spine.

That tremendous line down his chest and to the top of his stomach. As though a sharp sword had sliced at him, wishing for death, rather than Harry’s own wand.

“You’re looking guilty there, Potter.”

“Of course I am.” Harry’s hand has reached without thinking. Luckily—perhaps because Harry knows the cause of it—Draco doesn’t flinch, nor stop these fingertips from tracing over them. Gently, steadily, following the line. “I regretted it the moment I cast that spell.”

“Look, I don’t blame you. I was even about to use the Cruciatus curse on you—not like I think it would’ve worked, not when I didn’t mean it, but …” Draco’s words trail off as he glances at Harry’s face. The furrowed eyebrows, pursing of his lips. Draco lets out a sigh. He takes hold of Harry’s wrist, easing it away from his torso. “Harry. Listen. I’m not going to say you weren’t an idiot, because _really, _you must have bloody been so to use curses from a book you didn’t even know the owner of. But I don’t hate you for it. What’s the point in dwelling on it yourself if I’m not?”

“I know. I’m just guilty.”

“We’re all guilty about stuff. It’s whether we let that control us that matters.”

Harry stares at Draco. He smiles as the words process, mentally shaking his head.

“You’re right. God, getting counselling by Malfoy, what has happened?”

“Right? And here’s us doing all this for me. Come on, return the spotlight to me already.”

“We’re getting to it, be patient.”

Draco grins with amusement, although this is to fade as his hands grasp the shirt. There is more hesitation now. As though whatever he might reveal next will be far more personal, bear more vulnerability, than anything Draco has shown yet.

“Don’t judge me for it,” he says quietly.

“Why would I judge you for any scars you have?”

“I just—I wasn’t thinking straight, I don’t think. The pressure of working for _him _was just getting too much. I was terrified.”

“There’s no shame in that at all.” Harry’s hand rubs Draco’s thigh gently. “It’s only human.”

Draco hums under his breath. Slowly, he removes his shirt properly. For a moment, everything seems normal. That is until Harry’s gaze averts to Draco’s left arm.

He has never actually seen Draco’s Dark Mark. When the latter first became a Death Eater, Harry only assumed its existence, never seeing it for himself. Draco has managed to hide it underneath his usual shirts in the few months they have dated.

Up until now, Harry has pictured it to look like any other Dark Mark he has seen.

He hasn’t expected the scar which runs over it. Deep, ugly, yet causing no damage to the mark underneath.

“H-How?” Harry is too stunned to say much else.

“I did it myself. I wanted to ruin it, destroy it—obviously there’s no way to do that. Definitely not by a normal knife. It just left me with a lot of blood to take care of.”

“Merlin Draco, I’m—”

“Don’t.” The word is spoken quickly. “Don’t apologise. Like I said, I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t want sympathy over it. I guess I just don’t want people looking at it.”

Harry’s brow creases. He takes Draco’s left hand into both his own, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“I think I’m getting that now.” Draco’s eyes avert down to their hands. “There’s a few other scars, just small ones. This is the one I was scared of showing the most. My back comes after.”

“And how do you feel, now you’ve shown them?”

A moment’s pause. “Better, I think.” Draco manages a smile. “Like I’m not hiding anything anymore.”

“That’s exactly what we were hoping for.”

“More like you wanted to just have an opportunity to check out my body.”

“Come on, you have to ruin the sentiment.” Harry brings Draco’s hand up to his mouth to kiss it. “But yeah. Your body is great.”

“Then why did I wait all this time after all?”

Both laugh simultaneously, the noise fading into silence. A smile both of relief and sadness remains on Draco’s face. His hands are held over Harry’s chest, eyes bearing deep thoughts.

“I, uh.” He removes one hand to rub the back of his neck. “I have a hard time saying it, but thanks for this. I think this has already done a world of help for me.”

“That’s all I could have hoped for.” Harry leans forward, bringing their lips into a brief kiss. “And thank you for opening up to me. I know how hard it is to be vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable, huh?” Draco brushes Harry’s hair off his face. “Maybe I’m fine being that way with you, Potter.”

And he realises how much he means it, as their lips meet once more, and he sees how safe it makes him feel.


End file.
